


There’s so much blood and drama on the ice

by sunshinepunches



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Corruption, Edgeplay, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, The graphic depictions of violence here are metaphorical, Vaginal Sex, heaps of sacrilegious imagery, in the second chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinepunches/pseuds/sunshinepunches
Summary: You hand two tickets to Loki with a flourish, tiny snowflakes dance from their surface. He raises his eyebrows, but takes them delicately from you, the pads of his fingertips pressing into the frosty paper.He shakes them off and squints, as if for show.“What’s this?”





	1. This is the blood

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I couldn’t get this ice skating story out of my head. So I needed to write it down.

You hand two tickets to Loki with a flourish, tiny snowflakes dance from their surface. He raises his eyebrows, but takes them delicately from you, the pads of his fingertips pressing into the frosty paper.  
  
He shakes them off and squints, as if for show.  
  
“What’s this?”  
  
Your relationship with him isn’t strained per se, it’s just never been formed on words. He does sorcery, you do ice sorcery. It’s mutually beneficial and you work stupidly well together despite your lack of verbal communication at the best of times.  
  
You give a tiny winning smile.  
  
He rolls his eyes at you and scans the top ticket. “I am aware that you’re a... figure skater.” Avenging is not your full time job though Loki wishes it were, you get stolen away more often than not by your practice and fame and he’s left with wordier company. Tragic. When he’s surrounded by the happy idiots that make up the team he wishes for your cold to accompany his dark.  
  
“Semi finals, your choice to come or not.” You say.  
  
He shrugs. Face mostly impassive but something shimmering under the surface. “You do the skating thing during battles too. I see you jump around and stuff.” Open derision.  
  
That’s different, that’s death this is beauty. You shrug too and in response to him, “Your choice.”  
  
Ultimately you give him a grin and twirl away in a shower of crystals. You can’t wait to get to practice and see your favourite boy and skate partner, Roselyn.  
  


* * *

  
You’ve been skating with Roselyn for a near decade. He’s the Snow Prince to your Snow Angel, nicknames you achieved after medal after medal after medal. And you’d just started dating. You were proud.  
  
Sports magazines made a fuss about you just a half year ago when you were spotted holding hands in public and hitting up cafes for brunch. You cut out the best photos and added them to your skating scrapbook. It felt like a magical time.  
  
Roselyn was your perfect match, not too tall, not too short. Could see when your turns were a little too tight, could lift you up and let you down again with hardly a hitch.  
  
You trusted him enough to whisper in his ear about your masked adventures with the Avengers and your ice powers. He smiled wanly at you and kissed your knuckles for it.  
  
He’s charming and sweet with his words, a gentleman who’d buy you roses and kiss you on the cheek in front of cameras. He is a veritable dream.  
  


* * *

  
You’re ready. For the semi-finals.  
  
You’ve been ready for the past hour. Roselyn is nowhere to be seen, he is not answering his phone. You stand at the gate to the rink. The last couple were already graded. They left the rink. There’s only minutes left.  
  
You calm yourself by freezing and unfreezing ice cubes into your water bottle. The routine is right there in the forefront of your mind and you are confident, you can trust Roselyn. Your manager grips your bottle, you reluctantly give it to her, ice cubes tinkling.  
  
There is a prickle of something in the periphery of your vision. You look and it’s Loki and Thor sitting on the sidelines distantly, but enough to see them. Thor waves madly, he looks very excited. Loki nods. You raise a hand to them both, glad to have your mind off the agonising moment.  
  
Loki goes to elbow Thor in the sides and Thor attacks Loki with a noogie, you hear Loki’s anguished cries from here and you giggle. Their scuffle disturbs the audience around them, the cameras supposed to be filming the skating swing to them.  
  
On the big screen Loki viciously steps on Thor’s foot.  
  
The crowd erupts into laughter and cheering and the commentators turn to the two Asgardians in the crowd. You’re glad you invited them, they’re an act in themselves.  
  
A splash of brunette in a red suit twinkles from across the rink. It’s Roselyn.  
  
He’s supposed to enter behind you this time, but you ready yourself, you’re itching to skate. You try to catch his gaze but he’s not looking at you. He’s looking behind him.  
  
Roselyn enters the rink smoothly holding the dainty hands of a graceful swan like woman.  
  
You freeze with your foot halfway to the ice. Your heart has either stopped or is beating too fast, you forget how to breathe.  
  
The woman is Alyona Ivanov, renowned Russian model and figure skating champion. You have only ever seen her on a tv screen, enraptured by her impossibly fluid movements.  
  
The commentators confirm your thoughts.  
  
“The Snow Prince and the Russian Rose, what a match up!!” you hardly hear it and yet it’s too loud.  
  
“But where is the Snow Angel?”  
  
The camera swings toward you and looms, your slack expression is blown up a hundredfold on the screen and the audience gasps all round and titters. It cuts back entirely too quickly to _your_ partner on the ice with the stranger and There’s an agonising frozen moment with the sparkling pair on the ice before the song begins.  
  
It’s your song.  
  
It’s your routine.  
  
It’s your glory.  
  


* * *

  
“She was having a very public meltdown on the sidelines there.”  
  
“I would be too. If that was pulled on me. What a surprise, this is unheard of?!”  
  
The camera zooms in on your crying blotchy face and it cuts artistically to the same shot but blown up on the huge LED screens surrounding the stadium. It cuts again dramatically to the entire stadium.  
  
It cuts back to the show hosts sitting in a neat row. The woman in the group is looking horrified, the three men look uncomfortable and pensive.  
  
“Oh my god. It feels terrible every time I see it.”  
  
“We’re not sure if the Snow Angel will be able to make a comeback? Emotionally.”  
  
“And in the rink?”  
  
“Now I would want revenge. What a terrible thing to experience.”  
  
“The thing is, we’re not sure what’s really going on here, sources have said that it was already agreed upon that his partner was switched. This could be a career move for the Snow Angel.”  
  
“More like a career move for him.”  
  
“Speaking of career moves, would we see her back with another partner or will she take on the solo routine.”  
  
“She’s always ranked averagely in the solo routines. Recently she’s avoided them.”  
  
“That’s true; she might not have what it takes to pull it off. If you look closely at their playbacks you’ll find how heavily the routine leans on Roselyn’s performance.”  
  
“She’s not the strongest solo skater, she is very sweet and that’s always worked well with the Snow Prince. On her own though-“  
  
Slow clapping.  
  
You mute the tv. You turn around slowly, on edge. It’s Loki hanging in your doorway. You can hardly see him save for the moving glow of your plasma. His inscrutable expression a blur.  
  
Of course he shows up now when your ego is in shreds. Injustice the situation may be, you were the humiliated one. Everyone was making it a thing. It is a thing. Your thoughts are in disarray, a band without a conductor, your insecurity a terrorist in their midst. The cacaphony of the music you and Roselyn chose together ring in your head even while the tv runs on mute.  
  
How do you switch off the noise in your head?  
  
You say, “Hi.” You don’t expect pity from him. You remember his preference for black humour and try something. “Thanks for watching me skate,” you deadpan, voice a small crackle in the darkness. That came out sadder than you intended.

  
Loki and yourself were matched while fighting because your ice magic complemented his tricks and deception and Thor said it totally made sense. You suspected the real reason you were often paired was because he was the only one who didn’t complain of your magic being too c-c-cold and when Loki explained this to the team Thor was behind him mouthing something at you.  
  
You frowned. “Loki is what?”  
  
Loki sighed dramatically and said, “a Frost Giant.”  
  
“Cool,” you answered without thinking.  
  
Thor nodded rapidly, “Literally.”  
  
Loki looked thunderous at this and Thor had on mischief all over his face.

Loki is indignant, “THOR!”  
  
Despite it all you could never break the ice between Loki and yourself. He was always in and out as quickly as seemed appropriate. Hardly spared a word for you on most days. You didn’t mind, and you’d fallen into an awkward colleague-like relationship with the trickster. In step, but never too close.  
  
You’re too depressed to wonder why Loki’s here.  
  
His mouth is a cruel twist, “If that’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, that’s not too bad at all.”  
  
Ouch. You weren’t in the mood to be mocked.  
  
“Rude,” you say, still softly.  
  
“What are you going to do? Cry about it, no doubt you’ve done that already. Feel sorry for yourself? Beg for him to come ba-“  
  
You cut him off with biting words, pronouncing each as if it were a sentence of its own, “I am going to destroy that man like he destroyed my reputation.” And heart.  
  
You stare at Loki with fire in your eyes and tears caught in your throat. Loki pulls a comedic grimace, you don’t laugh. The pregnant pause continues, growing, much in character for you and him both.  
  
You watch him with apprehension as he chooses his next words recovering from your threat, a slight smirk to his expression now, “Fury wants to let you know that you don’t get any time off.”  
  
“Understandable.” The state of the world is more important than your feelings.  
  
You turn the tv’s sound back on because you enjoy twisting the knife in your back. The talk show has slightly shaken footage of you exiting the arena now in a hysterical frenzy, skates held in one hand and still in the sparkling pink princess dress. You look like you’re in pain, like the world has ended.  
  
“She looks positively frosty there.”  
  
“It was definitely very chilly in there that day. But I really do feel sorry for her-“  
  
“If this is all genuine; my heart absolutely melts for her!”  
  
You snap. “Why do they like making cold jokes so much? Why do they think it’s so funny?” You direct your anger at the television.  
  
Loki checks his nails, “It is funny.”  
  
The footage changed to Roselyn and Alyona’s performance. “Bringing it back to the performance earlier today. Will this be our new power couple?”  
  
“They complement each other perfectly. That lift there. Maybe there’s a reason for the partner switch.”  
  
“Only time will tell if it’s a career changing move, though the point score says it all.”  
  
The Russian Rose they call her, with her sparkling golden hair and delicate limbs. Entwined with your partner- ex-partner. It shows the crowd cheering at the end of their performance, they truly were brilliant like two coloured diamonds. They turned to each side of the arena and the crowd hollered and applauded like they forgot you entirely.  
  
It was your glory they stole.  
  
Behind you, Loki’s face softens for a fraction of a second and he leaves in a flicker of shadows. You sit there numbly hiding behind your knees as if it would make it hurt less. The show has moved onto brutal footage of a man breaking a leg during the slalom skiing semi-finals. You stare into the cold white snow. You imagine there’s blood.  
  


* * *

  
It was a frantic few days as you contacted every male skater you knew.  
  
You came up with nothing. Everyone was too busy, already had a partner, only did solo acts. Nobody wanted anything to do with the Snow Angel, knocked off her perch on live television. Though that wasn’t their intention, it certainly came across that way. Most expressed their condolences. Condemning Roselyn for your sake.  
  
Their pity doesn’t cool your anger. Fragments of your time together, the prize money, you thought you were dating? Your career, your passion, this was everything to you. The kind of lifelong investment that made up so much of your waking identity. It all swirled like a messy blizzard and melted down into one sad muddy puddle and you were left staring at the drying stain of it.  
  
And there was hardly time to mourn, you were swept up in a whirlpool of Avengers activity. You embrace the chance to stay away from the rink for a while, though your ice magic is a painful reminder at every turn, a dagger through the heart every time you use it.  
  
Loki doesn’t apologise for his rudeness the other day. He brushes past you and assumes your loyalty.  
  
He is deliberately sloppy.  
  
You still stop arrows aimed at his heart and cut down enemies before they strike him. You are so aimlessly angry that day and throw yourself bodily to block a sword and your ice barrier (too thin) shatters, taking the brunt of the blow but the sword cuts through to your shoulder. You remedy the situation with a vicious icicle through the monster’s brain.  
  
You don’t notice the way Loki looks at you as you’re air lifted off the battlefield.  
  


* * *

  
Thor bounces into the Avengers common room, “Brother, she seems sad doesn’t she?”  
  
Loki looks up from the sandwich he is constructing on the counter top. “Who.”  
  
Thor galumphs right next to him, “You know whoooo...”  
  
Loki layers ham on top of bacon on top of onion and reaches for the brie.  
  
Thor sparkles, “The Snow Angel!” He gives a little flutter of his lashes.  
  
Loki stacks half the round of brie on the mountain and gently lays buttered bread on top. He clicks his tongue, “She seems mostly demented these days.” Nobody would disagree with the observation.  
  
Thor barrels forward without half a thought to Loki’s tone. “No-o, she’s sad. You could-“  
  
“No.”  
  
“You can right?”  
  
“What. Can I do?” Loki said deliberately obtuse.  
  
“Since you’re a Frost Giant?! You can skate!”  
  
The bizarre leap of logic makes a vein in Loki’s temple throb and he lifts his top lip into the most withering arctic sneer he can manage, “You’re a prime imbecile. Thinking suits you ill.”  
  
Thor is hovering above his food. Loki snatches the sandwich from Thor’s grasp and magics a plate over. “Frost Giants. Don’t. Skate.”  
  


* * *

  
It’s snowing so you’ve found yourself at the curved edge of a frozen lake. Unable to bring yourself to use the rink, you alight onto the lumpy surface of it. You reach out with a hand and shave off the top portion of it. The whole frozen lake glistens like freshly blown glass. It is blissfully smooth.  
  
The ice is thick enough to support you, thick enough to support a horse or a cow even, your magic tells you. The water down below is cold and dark and welcoming, it gurgles a welcome to you. You hear minute groans and cracks in the ice that others would not. It calms you.  
  
You make some easy laps around the lake. You come to a stop in the middle, waiting for a feeling to catch, a start, middle or end of routine you can hold onto. You close your eyes and try to visualise, a Lutz, but the take-off is wrong and it lands brokenly. Your heart thuds as you drift away from it. The hardest one then, a triple axel, you’ve never been able to land that one, why not punish yourself further?  
  
You soar, you land on your feet and you buckle. Ice is beneath your knees and hands, cruel and sharp.  
  
You want it to hurt. You want to think about Roselyn.  
  
But he’s a distasteful thought so you launch yourself into a spin to forget, your spine curved back and holding onto your skate, looking toward the clouded sky. When you come round from the spin, you see a dark figure, crouched at the edge of the lake. It zooms past a few times in your vision before you still.  
  
It’s Loki, crouched in the snow, putting on skates.  
  
He skates toward you, not ungracefully but not masterfully either. He wobbles to a stop.  
  
You look at him like he’s crazy.  
  
He snaps, “Don’t- woah. Don’t look at me that way. I’m doing you a favour.” He gestures to himself emphatically.  
  
In response your nose scrunches up a little more. You are poised like a deer, snow drifting gently away from you, always landing away. You wait for an explanation.  
  
“You always have my back.” He looks pointedly at your shoulder in blame, green eyes sharp in the grey light. The wound is halfway healed, but it still hurts, your ice laced behind it helping you keep it together. He makes the compliment seem like an insult and you are ashamed.  
  
“So, I’ll assist you in this instance. Because, Thor forced me to. You’re sucking at fighting and you’re distracted and stupid. You’ve deteriorated tenfold.”  
  
He thrusts out his hands and seizes yours.  
  
You truly grimace then at the odd union. But he begins losing his balance and jerks in the air, you grip your fingers in his and for the first time in forever you really _see_ Loki. He looks panicked, regretful already, confused at his own boldness.  
  
This isn’t a joke or a trick.  
  
There’s snow all over him, on his nose, dappling his raven black hair. His shoulders, they’re wide and he’s so much taller than you, a baby giraffe to your cygnet. His hands are cold and huge in yours. You’ve never noticed how handsome he was until now.  
  
Your instinct kicks in to save the both of you. “Stop lifting your feet, you’re going to kill yourself.” You take his weight through your arms, your shoulder protests, but he is no longer precarious. His body of muscles slowly relaxes, still stilt-like in his newness.  
  
He looks relieved, then smirks. That is familiar, but it looks so beautiful now, like a fine snowflake. His smug voice shakes you out of your reverie, “Alright, shall we begin?”  
  


* * *

  
Loki is garbage. But he has laser sight focus and he doesn’t give up. He’s stronger than a human and he can keep up with you for hours. He starts out with bruises on his knees, until he is spinning tentatively. It’s really only been a few weeks. It’s like being a Frost Giant actually helps.  
  
You say so.  
  
He disagrees exasperatedly and automatically, as if someone has told him this before.  
  
The two of you linger around after skating one day, unsure of what to say. You end up trying to say something at the same time.

 

You gesture for him to say it first.  
  
He refuses to say it.  
  
So you say yours, “Thanks for all this. I feel a bit better about everything at least.”  
  
You can’t skate, you’ll never be good enough in time. This is a lifetime of work, it can’t be faked with a few months.  
  
You’re not sure if the angry voice inside your head is talking about Loki or yourself.  
  
“Plus, it’s nice to hang out together outside of work. So yeah, it’s very kind of you.”  
  
He loves the praise. Your appreciation of him, your words that you use to love. Your gratefulness, he wants it all to himself. He wants to drink from this fountain forever. He shrugs off the praise. “It is nothing.” He fishes.  
  
“It’s everything.” He has to know it, he has to know how the fragments of your heart were immediately gathered when he skated onto the ice.  
  
Your power is sharper in the next battle. There’s a clarity to your vision and you feel like you soar and fly as you create ramps and waterfalls of ice, falling off them and gaining speed off another one. Your ice cuts clean through the scales of a deadly giant creature. Its horrible head sliding off and belching thick viscous-  
  
Loki’s shrill voice, “Hey! HEY!! DON’T! BY ODIN’S BEARD.”  
  
Loki is covered in clear, sticky blood from the creature. He burbles and wipes it away.  
  
You are concerned, and you scan him, but he appears fine. “Sorry,” You say seriously still perched on your frosty mountain.  
  
“Could you have done that elsewhere? _This is filthy_.” He scolds and retches. Weird white substance oozing off him.  
  
You laugh despite truly not wanting to see him suffer.  
  
“UGH.” Your snickers become guffaws and you hold your stomach because seeing such a noble creature like him reduced is such a perfect contrast. You slip and have to make a handle in the ice so you don’t fall.  
  
He is fuming, “Ugh, you are SO-“  
  


* * *

  
“-beautiful.” He is too blistering close and you want to dance away, run run run for the hills so that he cannot have you.  
  
But you are no bird that can leave and he is far stronger than you. Pressed into his plush stuffed bed after innocent promises of looking at his injury from the ice.  
  
His ankle is not sprained at all. You levelled him with an unimpressed look after discovering the truth, you’d carried him all the way with your bare arms. Now he has trapped you with _his_ bare arms.  
  
He sees the fear in your eyes, mistrust placed there by another man. He eases you into the kiss with a wordless whisper.  
  
How can he?  
  
Is it real?  
  
You’ll take the lie, you’ll take it.  
  
You are shaking apart as you cry and draw him close by his dark oil spill of hair. You hold him so tight that you think your arms might go through him. He reminds you of the innocence you’ve lost, of the bullet wound hole of it.  
  
You wipe away your tears viciously and quench your thirst on the smooth glass of his lips. He’s always cold, and now more than ever, like an acrid chill deep in your bones, like the magic that burns itself into your soul.  
  
You tear away his under-vest with a blade of ice. You hate it, and he looks aroused by your anger. You’ve never tried beating him, but you start now, attacking his neck down to his collarbones and his nipples.  
  
His noises above you are sin and you are sinning.  
  
Your heart bursts with the love you have for his, you kiss it, nose and cheekbones. His smooth jaw. You love them. He looks lost. But hides it again with confidence.  
  
You coax out the vulnerability with a well-placed bite and he howls. He is throbbing and you feel him, like you’ve foolishly felt him before once pressed against his body. And you skated away that time, red faced.  
  
You edge closer to him now, eager for his want, and he is the one slowly changing shade. He gasps into the cool air and puffs as you turn him over. You gnaw your way down to the beginning of his pants as he lets out plaintiff cries from your scraping.  
  
You stroke the length of him in his pants possessively. Aware of the fabric, his blood coursing through to this. Deliciously warm for once. The awful leather pants are shucked off. You are gentle and just as you take in the tip of him into your mouth. You suck him down to the very root of it and stare into his glistening eyes.  
  
“Stop teasing.”  
  
You tease him more with the edge of your tongue. Slurping him down and milking him slowly like you’ve got all the time in the world for this meal. He groans into the air with vitriol and savagery like a barely tamed beast. And you imagine he might take you like one too.  
  
“Enough.”  
  
He grabs your hair, pulled off his dick with a quiet click of your teeth. He sees red and wants to punish you for turning him in a mewling virgin. That’s what you’re supposed to be. He wants to put you in your place and what better to do it with than his hard cock.  
  
He backs you up against the headboard, neck bare and draw his fingers down your body, dissolving your clothes off you.  
  
He throws you against the mattress and you squeal. Trying to get away but he is faster and on top of you.  
  
He thrusts against your sopping pussy, you cry out, violated because its sensitive. And the nerves feel shredded as he slowly grinds down to bump into your swollen clitoris once, twice, thrice. It is an assault and you jerk away. He follows, a hunter for the hot core of you. Managing to catch your lip in his vice of teeth and easing in just one finger into your hole and crooking it so that you croon.  
  
You are boneless, and you think Hell isn’t so bad if this kind of wonderful feeling is what you get for your submission. Loki will take it from you, and you submit to the slide of his second finger, you feel raw. Open. Tight. Wet. Electrified. He works you open, stuffing more fingers inside of you until you are teetering on the edge of orgasmic bliss. You want to piss or cum or _something_. You need his dick inside you. You want to be ruined on him.  
  
It’s there, shoving against you. You freeze though. You wriggle away again. A slippery caught fish.  
  
“Let me in.” He growls. Slapping your ass and grabbing a great mound of it, spreading you open so that your cunt is lewdly displayed.  
  
“Fuck.” He says in concentration. He dives in to lick and press inside. The sloppy noises make you blush, embarrassed even though he’s taken you to this point.  
  
“I’ve never done this before.”  
  
He hears your hesitation, your sentiment. And kisses your cunt open again so that you forget the foreign fangs of fear.  
  
“I am going to take what I want tonight.” But it is a question. There is a pause for you, air for you to breathe and find a way out if you want. Also, opportunity to plunge further into sin.  
  
“Loki.”  
  
He rises up and licks the column of your neck, needing to know your answer.  
  
“If we stop here I’ll never forgive you.” You say, feeling broken, splayed and pinned to a wall.  
  
You want to feel him inside you again.  
  
“Say it.”  
  
He wants you to plead and pray and beg even. Wants to lower you to the very bottom before allowing you the satisfaction.  
  
“Loki, please.” You are drowning in him.  
  
The hiss of his next word hits you across the face “Slut.”  
  
You could be, for him.  
  
“You want it?”  
  
You nod. He kneads your dripping pussy, and you want him inside you so frantically you could die.  
  
Loki sinks into you faster than you can breathe in fully and knocks it out of you. He has you speared, twitching and gasping on the thick of him. It’s an intoxicating, beastly feeling. You want more friction and all the hot thrusts he can give you. He gives a feral grin as he gives it to you.  
  
You feel like his dirty whore for the night, as he fucks into you, riding you like he stole you. Using you for his pleasure and when he feels your tightening around him, slows down. Turning it sweet and romantic, staring into your eyes with an understanding tilt to his brow as you bite your lip and he massages the mounds of your tits. You whimper through the pain and he changes so quickly, the sweetness into a sneer.  
  
You are still stretched wide over him. And he fucks into you as if he loves you. With a dreamy expression on his face. He looks deceptively kind but impales you again and again on his thick cock. Until you are mad for him.  
  
He squeezes you and kisses you and you let him fuck you through your orgasm. Crucified like this, you’d be satisfied. You scream for him, you scream his name and he says yours like a prayer. He is on his knees, before something he can believe in. And he grunts with exertion, sweat dripping off his brow, sizzling when it meets your skin. He comes deep inside you with another moan of despair and he slides out of you.  
  
You are halfway to sleep, warmed by the sex. He curls you into his arms, you want the cool night air, but you bear his affection.  
  
He doesn’t let you know that his body spoke the words he wanted to. Kissing your ear again and your lips, kissing hard enough to chip tooth.  
  
He rolls you over and pulls on your hair in warning. You could defend yourself still, your honour in tatters but you want the ruination.  
  
He holds you down like a dog and takes you on your knees from behind. The rough slide of him is eased with the wet of your orgasm and it feels, you clench, like nothing you’ve ever felt before.  
  
This bliss is out of your control, a tumbling vacation of your more logical senses and you feel violated by the abandonment of higher thought. His seed is hot and squelching and you love this, maybe you are a slut, maybe you are His. But you tighten your muscles around his dick because this is a battle you can win. He gives it to you enough that you are very nearly ready to cum again, his cock is hot and thick, softer and wetter like it likes you. Like your cunt is a friend and not a lover, but you are lovers, he reminds you with a snarl and a tug on your hair.  
  
“Look at us”  
  
He has a mirror by the bed and you see the two of you together. It is an immoral, self-indulgent union of two bodies, he cups your shoulder and pulls you back perversely until you take all of him. You cry out at the excess Loki has driven you to, his lechery is a thick rod and strong hold.  
  
Loki’s hand winds in your hair and he makes you watch as he takes you like an animal. He hungers for you in a way that he hasn’t for anything else before and he lets you know through the ragged thrusts he inflicts upon you. He is violent and proud as you begin shaking in his arms.  
  
“Cum for me again _Snow Angel_ ,” Loki says, flipping you on your back, biting down on your jugular, tearing the pain from you, soothing your screams with kisses.  
  
He finishes fucking you in another dizzy position, one with your leg raised above his shoulder and working his fingers over your sore clit. He grunts his satisfaction and you are flooded with his creamy warmth. He jerks you away from him and you fall into his plush sheets with an mmph.  
  
He finally falls, exhausted next to you. You pat his cheek and kiss him in the lips like he’s a sleeping princess, very chaste.  
  
He murmurs against you, “Well, that was insightful.”  
  
It makes you fonder of him.  
  
A clash of teeth, “Let’s do this every night.”  
  
His claws restraining your hair, retraining your heart, “You felt so good.”  
  
His poisonous green smile, “Could your ass take it next time?”  
  
Loki is kissing you filthily again, a question to prostitute yourself like this every night. Again and again. His kisses are killing you, like the chunks of a forbidden apple, his words slipping down your throat and into your belly. Hot wraithed words.  
  
Dark promises of chains and whips and, “I love you.”  
  
Did you hear him correctly? His wet eyes tell the truth. He is trembling and pushing his head into the crook of your neck. Tears roll down your body. You surround him with adoration so that he is not afraid, but you are empty of him.  
  
Instead of admitting to love you say, “Fuck me again.”  
  


* * *

  
Loki improves with leaps and bounds.  
  
You watch, head tilted at him, he is zig zagging across the ice. Literally skating circles around you. He is too tall for you, too big, it would look awkward. He smirks, does not smile and has a fanged grin. Demonic, not sweet. Not a prince, well actually a prince but more of a Satan and you are Faust.  
  
Loki is not a good match for your Snow Angel.  
  
Roselyn was a perfect match. Earnest and kind. And he tore your heart to shreds in two and a half minutes.  
  
Loki has a danger about him that you know you’ll be crushed by one day. Battle and skating, blood and blades and ice. It’s the same possession about him in everything he does and you’re okay with that. There’s honesty in his deception, and you know he’s no sanctuary for you.  
  
He loves you.  
  
You stop him in his tracks with a finger on his tunic, his arms coming around you like a temple. He moves his greedy hands down to your waist and brushes his lips against your bare neck.  
  
You’ve been killed once, you could do it again.  
  
  



	2. There's drama too

You forfeit from the couple’s competition. There’s no leeway for your return even with a different partner. It doesn’t hurt to close that door as much as you think it should.  
  
You skate alone. The air is so cold it tingles with kind familiarity, but you feel different, dangerous. You have to be dangerous otherwise you won’t make the landing for this Lutz.  
  
You do.  
  
You combine it with another Lutz and give it spectacular air time as if carried by wings. You show them why you’re called the Snow Angel. You’re fearless.  
  
Polite applause.  
  
You think of the black swan. You think of the wicked witch. You think of Loki and his barely concealed blade behind every word of his.  
  
You push your blades until they creak and scream in your mind. Carving deep enough it could run red. Purpling bruises on Loki’s shin and knees. Your muscles protest and your heart drives it further and further. Until you are dizzy from the consecutive leaps, each time you thud into the ice, imagining a punctured heart, yours, his. Yours. You are faster and more dangerous and that is a tough combination.  
  
Loud applause.  
  
Wind whistles past your ears and you smirk darkly. Timing your steps to the beat of the music. There’s softness in tiny angel steps and they grow into something savage. You pirouette like a broken bird. You should be dizzy, but you can’t be.  
  
Your focus breaks for one second when you think of the pair of them, so perfect a crime and your dark loneliness.  
  
You land on the wrong edge of your blade.  
  
The crowd gasps.  
  
But it is not fatal. You see green eyes and you’re pulled up by pale hands. You don’t fall, your taut muscles bring you onwards and upwards. Forward. You gain enough momentum to spin with a leg out, you nearly sit down in it. You grin and let it show all over your face, drive away the pain make it look pretty so they don’t know, so he won’t ever see.  
  
The crowd oos and claps as you exit it more gracefully this time. A gentle landing like a dove upon a branch. Loki shoos it away with his gossamer beauty.  
  
There is a needed lull in the beat and you breeze around in precise circles. The music disappears. You think of why you are here. You seethe in revenge and you cool it with the thought of Loki’s cold hands on yours, smoothing up your arms.  
  
You skate in silence, slamming into the next lot of leaps with the speed of a freight train. You crash through the seductive memories of him. Count down the beats and there’s a knife that strikes you down, you bend backwards and imagine your blood all over the ice. You are wounded and wound up tight, fast in this spin, ripped open, bones sun white like the shards kicked up by the swords on your feet.  
  
The crowd roars, it ebs and grows as your spin deepens and it bleeds into applause as you push out from it, changing the form of the spin, standing up higher, reaching out higher with one glittering sleeved arm. A claw wanting to rip open the heavens. You imagine grasping his shadowed form and finding the fabric of him crumpled in your hands, dragging him down to sink into him, blessedly.  
  
The audience screams as you come out of the spin.  
  
The music stops.  
  
It starts as suddenly, and you are free falling into the embrace of another spin, another jump. Round and round, a merry go round of darkness and jewels, in your mind Loki is the oath that leads you into the darkness and right out again.  
  
A leap as if happy, a spin as if heartbroken, a bullet-spray of toe jumps that crescendo into a triple Axel. You launch yourself off and you feel the terrifying treachery of the jump. The thought of Loki’s love makes you weep.  
  
There is no betrayal of the three and a half rotations, two and a half minutes.  
  
Green eyes.  
  
It’s just enough to land it. It punches the breath out of you.  
  
You punch the air with one hand. Breathing heavy. Glittering angry violence and look into the bright lights. In your mind, into his eyes.  
  
The crowd loses its mind.  
  
You nearly smile, but you remember to snarl, fallen into this role. A snowy bird reborn as pure fire.  
  
You smirk at your melodrama. A victory round, to wave and bask. To shake off your new wings.  
  
“And she is back with a devastating solo routine. I think everyone knows what she’s saying and who she’s saying it to.”  
  
“That is a comeback if we have ever seen one. I love this new Snow Angel no- Ice Queen we’ve got here. Wow!”  
  
“Wow indeed. And I think it’s clear that performance will be enough to get her through to the finals-“  
  
The crowds’ cheering is incredible. And you wave yourself off the ice, watching the scores come up with held breath.  
  
The crowd roars their approval and your heart does as well.  
  
In two and a half minutes you go from jilted lover to victorious. All thanks to, where is Loki anyway?  
  
You owe him thanks.  


* * *

 

Loki is skulking around the empty change room on the furthest side of the arena. When you find him, he pushes you against a locker, hands desperately bunched in your sports jacket.  
  
He says venomously, “Don’t think just because you’re the Ice Queen now you can forget about me.”  
  
He kisses you, messing up your careful hairsprayed coif, how can you forget this delightful sin?  
  
“I skated for you.” It became clear Loki had no hidden Frost Giant talent on the rink. He was a fast learner but he’d never amount to a human lifetime of practice so quickly.  
  
You imagined the sex and that’s how you skated.  
  
His eyebrow jerks and he levels you with a dangerous look. “You’re the worst. You’ve been making me wait. Say it.”  
  
He delivered in the end, he was out there, not letting you fall, so you will too, “I love you, Loki.”  
  
And he sighs, every bone in his body relieved to hear it. Then he rolls his eyes, “Don’t take this to heart, but you were resplendent. It was perfect. I hate you.”  
  
It wasn’t perfect, the point score showed that much. But it was more than enough.  
  
“I bet that bastard will be quaking in his boots.” He kisses you like a prize. And you intend on keeping him here like yours.  
  
“Friendship ended with Roselyn. Loki is my new best friend,” you snicker at your own musings. Loki kisses away your laughs until they turn into moans.  
  
“ _Only_ best friend?”  
  
You bounce back with another, “Sorry, the old Snow Angel can’t come to the phone right now. Why? ‘Cause she’s dead.”  
  
“Stop it you fool.”  
  
You smiled like a happy fool and meet his kisses.  
  
“I need to tweet this.” You said, pushing away from him.  
  
Loki looks disgruntled. “You really do live for glory, don’t you?”  
  
You need an image of today’s routine, they’re already popping up on google. You find one of an old routine too, cropping out Roselyn, “Get you a girl who can do both.” You tap away rapidly.  
  
“Ugh,” Loki crowds into you and slips a keen finger under your dress, he tears open your stockings. You send the tweet, horrified by his quickness. He wets his fingers in a hurry and gives you one, “How about this then?”  
  
Another finger and you feel the amazing stretch, your endorphins and victory mixing with arousal.  
  
“How about, I fuck you right here?”  
  
You nod fervently.  
  
He smirks, “Ah, very good.” You scrabble hopefully at him, trying to get his tie undone and out of that gorgeous tight shirt. “But what if I want your ass?” His fingers dip out of your cunt and down further, the tight ring of your asshole. Your eyes widen, it must’ve been comedic because he snickers.  
  
You have sold your soul to this man. He is collecting his reward from you and you cannot say no, your heart won’t allow it.  
  
You push into him, nodding your acquiescence and turn so that your back is to him. He purrs and runs a big hand down the curve of your ass.  
  
You imagine him growing fangs behind you as he says, “Good, very good.”  
  
He puts you against the locker, legs apart, ass out, you brace yourself on your arms. He is good enough to lubricate you with a muttering of his magic. It is cool and strange, a gooey mess of viscosity.  
  
You say with a lot more confidence than you feel, “You can probably tell I’ve never done this either.”  
  
He swirls a finger there gently, “You’ve been missing out.”  
  
You disagree with this and a lot of the things he believes but, he eases in a finger and suddenly nothing matters as much as remembering to draw in deep breaths against the sensation.  
  
You mutter, “Fuck, that’s, something.”  
  
A satisfied nip on your ear, “I _have_ corrupted you so much haven’t I?”  
  
“I do swear.” And virginity is a construct, but sex is so good the first time. He’s right, you don’t think you can live without the feel of him again.  
  
“Shh,” just go with it. He presses against you like he needs salvation, his silk shirt crinkling and his tie loose and wild. He shoves in another finger and it’s a tight stretch, but it’s pleasurable.  
  
You ease awkwardly out of your jacket while Loki has had enough and unbuckles his pants. He strokes himself to hardness and you turn back to watch him from under your lashes. You want to feel the hot curve of it under your hands, but he’s got them pressed up against the locker like you’re two young lovers stealing time.  
  
“Relax” He says, you are as relaxed as you can be. He’s taking more time with you today, his chilly fingers come back and push more of the lube up inside you, his thin lips sealing themselves over the back of your neck. His black hair falls over your shoulder like a veil. You let him suck out all of the skittish adrenalin still in your systems like a vampire would your blood.  
  
The ring of your muscle is so, you think with a burning face, elastic now and loose from his ministration. Filthy squelching is heard and Loki moans to the sound of it. Your pussy is hot and clenching against nothing, and he’s deliberately ignored that part of you. You are frantic, and you look back at him pleadingly, but he seems content stretching your ass.  
  
You whine, high in your throat.  
  
He pointedly ignores it.  
  
You breathe, raggedly, it makes you hotter. His power over you makes you starry eyed. There is nothing elegant about the position, clothes still on, hair halfway to a bird’s nest. Loki’s cruel fingers tear away at your stockings and underwear more, he gives you just a few second rub against the swell of your wet cunt, soaking the taut fabric.  
  
It’s not enough. The snake in him grins and he finds the very edge of your panties, pulling them to the side of your wet flesh.  
  
“What?” He teases, your executioner, “Want something to fill you up?  
  
“How greedy.” And suddenly there’s something smooth and round pressed against the mouth of your pussy. You gasp, but he pushes in the ball and eases in another one. It fills you up. It’s enough to keep you on the edge of madness.  
  
“Now, for the main course.”  
  
He presses the head of it against your loosened muscle. There’s a tense moment where you swear it won’t go in, please don’t!  But then he slides home and you scream, he doesn’t stop because it’s a scream of pleasure and blind confusion at his intrusion.  
  
You love it.  
  
It is demented, the way that he takes you against the frayed metal lockers, chipped paint and chipped purity coming together. The friction is unbearable, too rough and too hot, a ring of fire and coal. His fingers a cold vice around your wrists. He has conquered you and you allowed it, encouraged it, and now he’s taking everything.  
  
The balls stuck inside of you rub against you and each other. Loki is unrelenting in his pace, obviously frustrated by something, your performance? His dick is raw and hard inside of your asshole and you can do nothing but be pinned and fucked. It is a desecration and possession of your being and it pleases him, evident in the way he finishes inside you.  
  
You haven’t come, you want to. He stops your mouth with his hand, a blindfold for your words.  
  
“I’ll make you come that way someday, but not right now.”  
  
He pulls out and you feel the looseness of your hole. You whimper. He is already packed up, and that fuels your mounting frustration.  
  
Loki leads you, wobbling, to the benches in the middle of the room. He lays down on one, gesturing you over with his fingers.  
  
You, don’t understand.  
  
Loki rolls his eyes and pulls you off your centre of gravity so that you straddle his chest. He scooches you up until you are kneeling over his mouth and that’s when you realise it.  
  
You thought nothing could surprise you anymore with Loki, but it’s insane and embarrassing, you try to dismount but the trickster keeps you there, hands around your thighs. He pulls you down, down to hell.  
  
You can’t help but look down at the handsome face of his, pressing his nose into your flesh like there’s meaning there. His mouth creates a delicious suction and you throw your head back as he alternates sucking on your clit and licking your entrance. When your eyes start to lose focus, he goes in with his silver tongue and pushes the toys deeper inside of you. You are stuffed full of him, and you see the laughter, triumph in his eyes that even though he’s not in you, he is in you. He continues the work his tongue’s done with his fingers, stuffing them inside you and stretching so that you know no other name.  
  
He aggressively laps at your swollen clitoris until you are quivering and then he stops. He does this again and once more. The God of Mischief is a cruel jailer and master and you have tears streaming down your made up face from the pleasure. He spoke of corruption before, this might be it, a wanton purgatory inflected upon you by his hands.  
  
As you beg for forgiveness and satisfaction from him, he smirks and prises open your ass again, still wet. Still stuffed with his semen, his white oozing jizz.  
  
All belonging to him.  
  
Loki gives your clit the pressure you’ve been craving, with just the pad of his thumb. He scissors open your dripping asshole and you are taut like a string from this, he is your God. He finally lets you cum like this. You clench around the balls inside of you and shudder at him taking you apart.  
  
And when you find your vision again, you see that Loki is laughing. He is a sharp toothed demon, flames flickering.

You clear your throat. He stops, innocence plastered over and gives you a sweet kiss on your knee.  
  
You help him up, and while he fixes his hair, you also try to salvage your appearance. When you are ready, Loki holds out an elbow for you to take. It is more romantic than the two of you deserve, you take his arm and go to leave the room.  
  
There’s a man standing in the doorway. His shining brunette hair looks dishevelled like he ran and his face is nothing like you’ve seen before, a brutish snarl.  
  
It’s Roselyn.  
  
Your Snow Prince.  
  
Roselyn sounds like a husky pant, “You cheated.”  
  
Your relationship was _over_ the day he betrayed you. Being with Loki wasn’t cheating. You frown, Roselyn has no claim to you however convincing his falseness was.  
  
Loki snorts, pulling you to him. “What a fool. Let’s go.”  
  
Roselyn blocks the way, “All your life you’ve cheated. That’s how you did it.”  
  
No, he thinks you cheated on the rink. You set your jaw and fist your free hand. How dare he? Your mind is hopping over memories quickly, categorising the times Roselyn stopped you, corrected you, moulded you to skate how he wanted.  
  
You’ve imagined killing him many a night.  
  
Loki bristles and snarls. You hold a hand to him, let me handle this. He does stop, like you’ve stopped him on the ice many times before.  
  
You stand there ready to let Roselyn shoot you through the heart. “You know me.” You say it quietly, not a plea but a truth. “I would not.”  
  
You did not cheat. You would not cheat for glory because there’s things more important than being adored by people who won’t care the next season. Like earning something. The ice compels you to be true to yourself.  
  
“I’ve never used my powers for my skating.” It wouldn’t do much good anyway. Your powers are there to kill and injure.  
  
Roselyn should know that. He should’ve known what it is you do when you whispered to him the truth in trust. He had to.  
  
10 years of partnership.  
  
3 and a half rotations.  
  
2 and a half minutes.  
  
“Yes, I can feel it call me, but here it chooses not to help me and I would not ask it to.” You had never even thought to. After all, it would not be fair. You could never be proud and victorious if you did. Why did Roselyn who knew you so well not see that, why would he jump to this horrible condemning conclusion?  
  
Roselyn looks crazed, hysterical. “You’re not normal. Nobody skates like you do.”  
  
Roselyn has always been your biggest critic, picking on this and that but finally being content once you changed what you were doing. He and the coach would disagree, but he would always treat you with gentle cruel words and a steady hand. The coach would look on, helpless, as you and Roselyn took to the ice hand in hand, a pair of swans.  
  
Loki steps forward, voice unwavering “Just because _you_ would cheat doesn’t mean others would.”  
  
Roselyn looks at Loki and looks back to you, licking his lips.  
  
“Skate with me again.” He abandons the Russian beauty as readily as he abandoned you.  
  
You’d be lying to say that you haven’t imagined him begging for you back. But you never truly expected him to do it, “What?”  
  
“Be my partner again!” He yells.  
  
Loki hisses, “Never!” His green eyes are greedy, and he hovers by you like a protective vulture.  
  
Roselyn manages to spare Loki the barest of glances as if he is dirt.  
  
“Right and you’d sooner skate with _the witch_ here.”  
  
You are tense, you command your body to relax inch by inch. You are offended, but this is not worth a fight. You shrug. “You have your answer.”  
  
“What? You _never_ let me answer for you and here you are, happy to be his whore?” Roselyn’s got a mean bite and you have to hold Loki back by his sleeve.  
  
Roselyn is incensed, “You NEVER listened to me. I always had your best interests in mind even if you’re a weak, scatterbrained idiot.”  
  
Loki bristles with green magic. You quickly ice his feet to the ground. His concentration is broken, and he looks at you, betrayed.  
  
Roselyn turns to attack Loki again, “How is he better than me? He can’t make you happy like I did-“  
  
That’s enough. You’ve got a cold knife held to Roselyn’s throat before he can end his rant. He swallows, eyes unblinking at your threat.  
  
“Sure he can.” Call me whore, you think. It doesn’t matter. You did everything for Roselyn and it was okay if he felt like that wasn’t enough. But Roselyn fancies himself something equal to or more than Loki and that’s just plain wrong, “My powers are not pretty, Roselyn. I can kill.” You say it like an apology. But you realise, that you can use it as a threat. “Ah. I can kill you and nobody will know.” A lightbulb moment.  
  
He doesn’t deserve answers or understanding. Maybe once upon a time he did but not now. Time marches forward and the ice is melting for him because he was the one to set it all aflame, thinking he could kill winter or at least control it.  
  
Whatever possesses you to say your next words you’re not sure, is it the ever bright Aurora Borealis, or the biting cold Antarctic wind, but you are an Ice Age and you will make him a cowering mammal, he will burn from your cold.  
  
You raise your voice like the howling of wolves, the deep bitterness of dark water, “I could subjugate the whole world under my powers and yet you think I would _stoop_ to winning prizes and applause?”  
  
The temperature of the room drops.  
  
Loki lets out a triumphant, “HAH!”  
  
Roselyn realises the tables have turned. You say, “How stupid can you be?”  
  
Roselyn sees fear. Reduced to an animal in front of your elemental fury.  
  
“I can take what I want!” Loki’s words fly out of your mouth because you are furious. “I only let you control me because I LOVED YOU.”  
  
You hardly have to raise a hand and a biting gust forms, icicles grow from your feet and tower, splintering like your heart did for this man. Loki’s gleeful dark laughter is heard above it all.  
  
Roselyn’s coat is speared, and his hair blown about, finally he is thrown against a wall by the force of the gale and he lands on his backside with a terrified thump, scrambling against the floor and sprinting away from you like he’s seen a monster. Maybe he has.  
  
Loki lets his mirth overflow, “Run little boy!” He shouts, hands cupped to his mouth. “RUN OR THE WITCHES WILL GET YOU.”  
  
Loki’s cackling laughter follows Roselyn out.  
  
You fall to your knees, heart racing, you didn’t expect to see that man again. He affects you still and you are in pain. Loki puts a hand on your head and slides it down to your shoulder. He’s has already unfrozen his feet off the ground.  
  
The room is still frosty and chilled. You look about, there are a few icicles and some frost sprawling across the seats. But that’s it, you puff out some hot air, a nervous laugh on your lips, “Heh, I’m not like that, really.” You insist toward the man beside you, winding down from the confrontation.  
  
Loki clears his throat, “I think you should be more like that. It’s hilarious.”  
  
It was all just bluff, but for a human lacking any training in combat it was scary enough, “Hehe, I couldn’t actually take over the world. That was fake.”  
  
“Ah, yep.” Loki sounds sheepish, “But you didn’t need to be more convincing than that. Up you go.” He rights you like all the times you’ve righted him after a fall. And if he were there to catch you every time, you’d fall and fall again even if he’d miss and let you fall, you would. Just for him. Because then he’d get to pick you up again like how he found you that night in the dark glow of the television, glistening with tears and raise you up until you glisten with starlight instead.  
  
Nothing is as full of melodrama as figure skating.  
  
Roselyn is gone.  
  
Your phone lets you know your twitter is blowing up.  
  
And Loki deserves your thanks again it seems.  


* * *

  
You find Loki with a mug of tea in the common room, a movie on, but asleep. You look at the attractive symmetry of his face, and his dark hairs. His relaxed eyebrows and thin lips and his neck that disappears into the collar of his leather outfit. You could kiss him but you don’t want to wake him.  
  
Shaking away any further fantasies, you produce a thick knitted blanket and throw it into the air. It billows, infused with dissipating magic and settles on him.  
  
He is awake almost immediately. He shouts in surprise at the blanket covering him, then shouts in surprise at you.  
  
“You!”  
  
“Hi.” You smile like a cat, curled up at the sides. You made that for him, you followed several patterns online, considered Loki’s heritage and made it from pretty, expensive cashmere.  
  
You nod proudly toward the blanket, “Enjoy.”  
  
You leave in a twirl of happy magic.  
  
He looks down at the repeating pattern in the wool and his eyes widen.  
  
“Oh. Norns.”  


* * *

  
The lake is cold and dark and regretfully it will be spring soon. You’ll have to find someplace else to write out your feelings in the ice.  


* * *

  
Loki finds Thor, Valkyrie and Banner nestled under the blanket when he returns with a fresh mug of tea.  
  
“You’re misappropriating my property.” He ekes out.  
  
Valkyrie didn’t even blink as she replies, “Ya snooze, ya lose.”  
  
“Hey Loki. What is this pattern?” Banner says, pointing at the repeating square, alternatively white and black with a blue figure in the middle.  
  
Loki snaps haughtily, “None of your business!”  
  
Thor beams, “I was thinking they’re Frost Giants.” Thor curls in tighter to the woollen monstrosity, “It’s great isn’t it? Maybe offensive, but great.”  
  
Thor eyes Loki.  
  
Loki snarls and starts tugging the edge of the blanket. “It’s mine!”  


* * *

  
“You’re mine!” He says triumphantly, greedily from across the frozen lake you’ve come to think of as yours. Does he deserve the claim? You’re not sure, but he’d helped you destroy the last vestiges of your past together and that was damn good enough.  
  
He tears away at your clothes, it’s just an old white practice dress of yours, but he could be more careful. His blunt nails catch on your thigh and he’s almost lifting you up.  
  
You dance away, borne by your skates. Kicking up sparks of ice.  
  
“You won’t escape from me.”  
  
And he follows you, you could push yourself further away but you don’t.  
  
His voice is dark and predatory, “You were lost the day you met me.”  
  
Untrue, you fell the day he put away his pride and came for you on the ice. You twirl around from a kick but don’t correct him.  
  
He pounces like a wild wolf, intent on tearing you to shreds, ending your teasing spin, nicking you on the collarbone with his teeth, his eyes full of nasty promise.  
  
He’s done collecting your fresh tears, they are all frozen now and what’s hot is the state of your hips flush together.  
  
Loki’s embrace is a mockery of the purity of what a lift should be. His hard, hot want, wants in.  
  
“You want concussion?” You say because you are not as lost to your senses as he is, “Take me to bed.”  
  
He does. He makes sure that you know every inch of his body like you know the intimately packed molecules of water that make up your sorcery.  
  
It is enough to make you scream, he teases out the very thread of you by edging you cruelly. Playing you like a taught string so that you don’t know where to go and it’s always (he thinks with deep satisfaction) back to him. He fucks into your pussy and doesn’t let you go anywhere without his permission.  
  
If Loki allows, this will be your fifth orgasm for the night, you’re not sure if you can take anymore. You are not made for the brutality, but Loki makes you believe you are and so you rut back with equal fervour to match him.  
  
He teases your stretched opening with just the tip of him while he lewdly grabs and kneads your tits. He is smug from this horrific display he has made of your submitting body. You remember the time he commanded you to look into the mirror and watch the debauched beauty of your coupling.  
  
Loki sneakily slips in two thumbs to stretch you even more as he fucks into you. It is enough to tip you over in a haze of lightning white with a, “No, Loki! Yes!”  
  
It is not enough for him as he takes you strings you to the headboard with a black leather strip so that you struggle like a broken bird and takes you again. It’s agonising, it’s too much but you let him sate his lust.  
  
The core of you is hot and weakened, it’s supine and supplicant to him. When you next look up he has transformed, into the dangerous blue-black creature from a nightmare realm, and you scream in fear or delight you’re not sure anymore. It is both as he takes you and is it just your fragile mind breaking or is it that the texture of him has changed, it is rougher now and the ridges on him compel you to beg him for more, more, more!  
  
Nightmare Loki obliges with a mouth of razor teeth and folds you in half with his strength. He is bloodthirsty like this and is satisfied by your pain-pleasured cries.  
  
Loki deviously presses his clawed fingers to your clit and you squeal in true fear from the sharpness, but he makes it feel so good that you’ve got your head thrown back, letting him rub you until you see stars. And you wonder how because he is most definitely a demon from Hell, a red eyed Mephistopheles raging for your death.  
  
His rough cock hits the most sensitive parts of you over and over until you are over sensitive, crying from the stimulation that has you begging for release. He is evil and takes his sweet time, hitting your sweet spots as if he hasn’t already humiliated you enough and drawn out your fall like this. He takes advantage of your flexibility, raising your leg, toe pointed toward the Heavens and continues his powerful thrusts.  
  
You glance at the mirror now.  
  
There it is, a maiden deflowered by a Frost Giant, as if taken against her will, but never against your will.  
  
You want to let him know, so you break the leather binding you with a shard of ice and go to wrap yourself around his neck. He stills. You raise yourself so that you can kiss his lips and move onto the cold, delicate cheek one of his, feeling the grooves of his skin like roughened ice.  
  
The mirror shows the romantic embrace of lovers.  
  
Loki, emboldened by your affection, rides you to completion. He threatens you with words like “whore” and “slut” and “dirty”, and you moan for him, so he knows that you are his. You are trapped by his throbbing length, held tightly inside you and the thought of it is enough to make you cum. Loki snarls into the space made by your neck and shoulder and finally bites down there. You know there is blood without seeing it. He holds you there, split open until he pumps once, twice and shudders his release into the deepest part of you.  
  
When you next open your eyes, he’s back to his pale skinned self, a little shaken. Hands glowing green at your neck to help knit the wound together. The ice underneath your skin swells to help, and you notice how close this wound is to your old one. Loki’s sentimentality is showing through.  
  
You give him a cute little peck on the lips. He snorts at your display and flops down, summoning something with a wave of his hand.  
  
The horrid blanket you knitted for him floats down.  
  
And so you are both tucked under the blanket you made for Loki, but more importantly you are tucked against him. It is a cool pressure and the feel of him feeds your magic. You cannot be happier.  
  
“Excellent,” You say.  
  
He croons proudly, “My Ice Queen.”  
  
You puff out your cheeks, you have been conflicted from the beginning since you heard the moniker. “It was my only choice. I never wanted to be that.” That was the powdery Snow Angel talking.  
  
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, being something people are afraid of.” In awe of. Not a victim but a victor. Frost Giant.  
  
“Ah, but it makes me sound mean.” You observe. Like you killed the Snow Angel and you did.  
  
“Mean is perfectly fine. There’s things far worse than mean.” Loki says easily, as if it all doesn’t matter.  
  
It sounds like a lifetime of heartbreak, and you latch onto him so that the tightness around his rib cage is all the pain he’ll be able to feel. You listen closely to the beating of his heart, you hear the ice in his veins and the song of your most recent stand made possible by his poison. It is deep and dark and cold.  
  
It calms you and you are not angry anymore.  
  
Loki shifts in your tight grasp, “I’m horny.” He says. “Again.”  
  
He looks at you expectantly from across the ice.  
  
You take his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo, I hope you enjoyed my METAPHORS and Description. It got me kicked out of several Catholic churches eh.
> 
> This is my ode to that guy who dumped me publicly and denied ever dating me. Swan Lake. Yuri on Ice. Frozen. Yuna Kim. Fall Out Boy's new album MANIA. And those two years in high school I spent learning how to skate/smash my face against the ice.


End file.
